


Melting pot

by Luorescence



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Character Death, Dancing, Drabble Collection, Family, Food, Friendship/Love, Gen, Humor, Interspecies, M/M, Mass Effect Multiplayer, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Slice of Life, Thought Projection, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luorescence/pseuds/Luorescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and vignettes written for a few LJ communities. Covering the whole series as well as various characters. Unless stated otherwise in the chapter's note, Shepard is a male spacer in a relationship with Garrus.</p><p>17th: The Ghost, they called them, since nobody could seem to succeed in tracing the guy's id informations, even when nobody seemed to be able to shut up about their impressive battle achievements. Garrus couldn't say he wasn't excited that Shepard had sent Tali and him on a mission where they'd have to team up with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The essence of sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Organics always had been a mystery for the geths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a translation of "L'essence du sacrifice", written for the French community [6 variations](http://6variations.livejournal.com)' prompt "The value of a smile"
> 
> The narrator's mine, unlike the rest.

To anyone’s eyes, the place wouldn’t be anything more than a rocky stone covered in deserts, sometimes crossed by rivers joining into oceans here and there. A planet of an endless brown, without life except for some patches of grass, here and there. Perched on the edge of a cliff, it was looking at the stilled sea far beneath, scrutinizing the depths as if they would give an answer to its multiple questions.  
  
“Why did Creator Tali’Zorah jump?”  
  
Its RAM replayed endlessly this moment, a lot earlier, when the Creator Tali’Zorah had leapt into the air, ending her platform’s functionality. The end of her existence meant the slowdown of the Creators’ collective evolution, didn’t it? So, why had she willing to such a thing? Silence answered the question as the human behind him moved. It turned to face him, eye flashing in curiosity. He opened his mouth, like he was about to speak, shut it, then shook his head.  
  
“Organic beings can not change their platform. Why would one break it? We do not understand.”  
  
The corners of his lips were down, lightly trembling. His eyes were a lot more humid than instants ago, his cardiac rhythm much more high than it should have been and his fists tight. Interesting.  
  
“What do you see in the sky?”  
  
Its frontal plates softly clicked when its eye rested on the horizon. There, a shower of shooting stars, which he knew were the Creators’ vessels, were rushing through the atmosphere, going up in flames as they crashed into the Consensus’ defense. The answer was simple.  
  
“The Creators’ death.”  
  
“Why did Tali jump?” The human imitated the geth’s mechanical tone when he returned the question. Even if it wasn’t an organic being, the answer should had been obvious. It wondered if its processor lagged, for not being able to deduce it from the start.  
  
“The Creators’ death was a necessity.”  
  
Its eye came on the Legion-platform, resting inert on the rocky soil farther away. It was regretting the Creators’ end, would have like another solution to the problem. However, the organics’ decisions were often obtuse, heavenly influenced by their individuality, rarely logical and for the greater good.  
  
“We defend ourselves because they attack us,” it added, its head slightly perched on the side, surprised by the weird accent in its voice. That was the truth but, it strangely sounded like a justification. “We regret their death.”  
  
When it directed its optic captor on the Rannoch-seas-like blue irises, it seemed like they had taken another dimension. As if they were transpiercing him, perceiving something beyond its synthetic components; as if they could guess what it was thinking. That was stupid: organic beings’ eyes weren’t fitted with telepathic decoder. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be in such a situation and, the Shepard-Commander wouldn’t seem so strained although he had successfully accomplished his mission.  
  
It looked away, its gaze on the geth again, on the white armband with a red stripe attached to its platform. Technically speaking, the scans revealed it was still operational. Only, it knew its RAM, its consciousness, was down, all of its data totally lost. It was also aware that organics called that death.  
  
“Like we regret the one of the unit called Legion.”  
  
It looked back at the humain. His expression had even darkened, his eyes on Rannoch’s sky, still covered in the fires of the Creators’ destruction. The human didn’t speak but it was obvious that his thoughts were with them.  
  
It didn’t know how to react. Its processor was proposing a large choice of sentences collected on literary and audiovisual databases, however it felt like nothing fitted the situation.  
  
“We…” It stopped, unusually uncertain. With the update Legion had bestowed upon them, could it really speak for the whole geths? It wasn’t sure of what it was about to say would be a certain affirmation of the agreed-upon Consensus’ opinion. It chose to correct itself. “I will honor the creators’ sacrifice as much as Legion’s.”  
  
It was sincere, like geths always were: the act of lying had never been coded into their original program and they never had modified it since. Using the first person singular had a strange echo to its audio captors, but the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. It didn’t felt natural, but that was expected. Geths formed a consensus: each platform’s decision was authorized by the Consensus, each sentence was words of the whole Consensus. Before Legion and the upgrade, they hadn’t been anything but a plurality.  
  
In front of it, the human had looked away from the sad spectacle to stare at it. His face seemed a little less strained, his expression softer. He was smiling. A tiny smile, a little crooked, weird, but the corners of his mouth were slightly up designated it as a smile. It was the first time it saw one. As confusion filled it, a discharge ran through its system.  
  
“Data indicate that organics smiled when they are happy. Visual clues indicates you aren’t. Why smiling then, Shepard-Commander? I do not understand.”  
  
“Because when I see you, I know that at least.” He took a sharp breath then continued, his face looking like its was painful for him to speak, “Legion’s sacrifice wasn’t vain.”


	2. The road to hell is paved with flowery intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus would be sure to remember that being anywhere near Shepard would include some hells to walk through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** A trail of rose leaves on  
>  **Pairing:** Shepard/Garrus  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME2

Garrus’ mandibles lightly widened in incomprehension, his eyes looking back and forth the part of the Commander’s face he could see, and the large thing masking the other part. During his investigations through the extranet about humans’ mating court, he had came upon this peculiar behavior countless times. Careful to have it right, he had even confirmed the fact with Kasumi Goto, going as far as reading some of her human romance books.  
  
He had decided to act at their next stop to the Citadel, taking upon himself to search for the perfect store. And here he stood in front of Shepard’s quarters, a large bouquet of blue roses in his hands, with the knowledge his homework had been flawlessly done.  
  
And Shepard was laughing his ass out, as if he had really messed up with something: like that day he somehow had ended up saying to a human merchant he had payed them penis for all the stuff they gave him. Because peanuts and penis fucking sounded the same to him. It wasn’t his fault if human language was so flat and bore no flanged accentuation.   
  
“What?” he snapped, the subharmonics of his voice low. What was wrong with him now?  
  
Shepard took a step on the side, his face now fully visible. He had regained some composure but, his eyes were beaming with what he knew was amusement and he was grinning as if Garrus had made the damn best joke in the galaxy.  
  
“Fuck Garrus, I could think a lot of adjectives to describe you, but I didn’t think cute would be in the list.”  
  
“This is awkward” was the only thing Garrus could think of, which wouldn’t lead into even more embarrassment on his part and another laughing fit on his mate’s part. Mate or whatever they were: he still couldn’t find a word to put on their relationship.  
  
Seemingly oblivious to his wish to put this topic aside, or simply being the mocking bastard he was, Shepard decided otherwise. “And kinda cute.” At this instant, the turian wanted to be eaten by klixen. “Anyway, don’t ask Kasumi for too much advices if you don’t want to end up in an awkward cuteness overload one day.”  
  
“Fuck you Shepard.”  
  
“Yeah Vakarian, I know that’s why these roses are here.”  
  
If he were human, Garrus would have rolled his eyes and let an exaggerated sigh come through his lips. His eyes couldn’t be rolled and he had no lips to begin with so he chose to do any sane turian would have in these circumstances (not that any sane turian would be in that particular situation). He stood still, staring at Shepard with a blank expression, his mandibles tightly pressed against the side of his face.   
  
That was the time he realized that once again, the redhead had lead him into one hell of a path. Not that their relation was comparable to going after Saren or the collectors but, it really felt like it. Spirits, what had he engaged himself in?


	3. Enjoying the dance floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard had always made rather fascinating moves when trying to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Epic, for the Insanity Round  
>  **Timeline:** ME3

The moves were tremendous, made with such determination that the first time Garrus was fairly sure they were intentional. After all, nobody could have been able to pull out a ridiculously entrancing dance like that, without putting efforts in it. 

Time had proven him wrong, and he just finally just accepted that his mentor was a very bad dancer, completely aware of that fact but still unwilling to change that. Something about catching all eyes he had answered with a smirk, when the turian confronted him. And like more times than less, the bastard was totally right.

There wasn’t a single soul _not_ looking at the human commander when he came to the dance floor. Vega hadn’t seen that other legendary part of him yet, and absolutely wanted to. In exchange, Shepard had succeeded in making him promise that all rounds would be on him this night. Seeing all the concupiscent stares on his mate, that was greatly appreciated.

Not that his helpless little fling of jealousy was a problem. He could keep that in check without any efforts: seeing what Shepard was, it was fairly normal for anybody to be attracted by him. It was even flattering, somehow pleasing to see he wasn’t the only one.

“Seriously, Scars. _Seriously_.” Vega was looking back and forth at the human and him, his mouth agape. Next to him, Liara and Tali chuckled. “Commander fucking Shepard can save a galaxy twice. Will save it another time. But he can’t fucking pull two dance steps correctly? How can you live with a boyfriend like that?”

Garrus quaffed his glass of strong turian whiskey, nearly chocking on the drink roughness. “I don’t have a choice,” he managed to say, stumbling a little on his words as he felt the beverage attack his esophagus on its way to his stomach. Hopefully it would stay in it, so he would be able to stuff himself with more.

Vega shrugged. “I guess nobody is perfect, not even Loco.” His eyes were on Shepard again. The later had suddenly moved his arms from his side, up in the air, turning on himself in a perfect swift rendition of ridicule. “Still, _this_.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned the subharmonics of his voice low with a mix of irritation, despair and shame.

“Wow, isn’t that an asari babe sticking next to him? Look how she devouring with her eyes.” Vega was right. Garrus was no expert with alien body language but he would recognize that look in anybody, be it turian or not. And the fact the asari was now dancing with Shepard, lascivious hands brushing his mate’s body.  “What you gonna do?”

And Shepard was staring straight at him, with one of these smirks he was fond of giving. He was waiting for him to step in, wasn’t he? Like hell he would give the little bastard that satisfaction. Instead, he shifted to a more comfy position.

“Enjoy the show,” he answered to Vega’s question, a hand reaching for one of the bottles in front of him. His eyes never left from Shepard’s when he gulped down the atrocious beverage. He heard Tali sigh next to him.

“You two are impossible bosh’tet.” 

That made Garrus rumble with amusement. “Of course we are. The galaxy needs no less to be saved,” he concluded, earning a sharp pain on his right side, as the quarian elbowed him.


	4. Fear has no taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eating always was a sensitive topic for Tali.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Fear  
>  **Pairing:** Shepard/Garrus  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME3

There was something unnerving having to live on an alien vessel. Something very inevitable which never cease to annoy her, no matter how much time passed. The worst was that nothing could be done, at least for now. Shepard’s impressive diplomatic skills had brought peace between quarians and geths. Thanks to that, in a few years, she might be able to indulge into what aliens took for granted. Meanwhile, she was extremely grateful her face was hidden. Like that, she could stare at anybody without being caught.

Right now, her eyes rested on James across the table, munching very noisily and humming his appreciation to the meal. She couldn’t help but stare at his jaw muscles movement when he took another mouthful of a very appetizing slice of pie. Although she didn’t knew its flavor, the sugar-coated, little red and round fruits forming the garniture were sufficient to make her salivate. Not that she would be able to taste it, even if she could put it through her filters.

Next to him, Garrus and Javik were stuffing themselves with some juicy meat. The former was making the very same light rumbling he did when dealing with his dearly beloved calibrations. To add to her annoyance, from where she sat, she could see Kaidan ordering his own food, and the distributor giving him the incredible amount he had each time. She narrowed her eyes as he came to them, his plate filled with very appetizing and good-looking things, which name she didn’t even knew. But it seemed tasty, seeing that the human dove into it without a word when he sat down next to her.

“You already finished? That was fast.”

James’ voice snapped her back to reality. Garrus snorted. Kaidan chuckled. Javik ignored him. She glared daggers at the ignorant lieutenant, trying to convey all her frustration and annoyance at him through her mask. She reached for the white tube with a red strip on her plate, slowly rose it between three careful fingers. Its design was standard, except for its long and slim tip. Then the quarian put her hand above one of the human’s empty dishes, and pressed.

What fell on it had a fascinating consistence: a mix of liquid and solid, kind of slightly lumpy paste of an unidentified grayish color. It looked mud. Something that no one should have to absorb. It didn’t even looked like food.

“This is the food of my people,” she said venom in her voice, looking at the grimace expression James wore. “I dare you to taste it and tell me how not fast you want me to eat it.”

“Hmm…” James eyed the paste eyes narrowed, sniffing it without approaching, as if it would jump on his face. “I’ll pass Sparks. Incompatible biology, not that I think any biology is compatible with that.”

Next to her, her older mates were looking at their own food in a religious silence, but she knew them well enough to know both of them were very amused. Aliens! They couldn’t understand what chance they had, to be able to eat other things than paste tube without fearing some a days-long fever after.

“Well Tali, back in the time you said that at least, Normandy’s paste tubes had flavor. Still better than nothing, isn’t it?”

She swore she was going to make Garrus acquaintance of her Graal Spike Thrower, even if Shepard would probably not like to know she had blasted out his fucking bosh’tet of a boyfriend.

“So  _turian_ , please tell me about the flavor since you and me are dextros.” Seeing Garrus choke on his meat put a triumphant smile to her face. “Surely, it will suit your taste.”

There was a long silence, where all attention was on Garrus, siting still, his mandibles stiff as his eyes rested on the grey-ish pretence of food. In the corner of her vision, she saw that even Javik had ceased to eat, now looking intensely at the sniper. The smirk on his lips told her she was about to have much more fun.

“It seems the turian is afraid of mere paste.”

That instant, she decided she liked the ever-arrogant prothean better.


	5. Nothing but thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what he did, Sidonis couldn't stay on Omega

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Thank you  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME2  
>  **Notes:** Obviously, Lucia is an OC

The transporter had finally departed from the forsaken rock poisoning its part of the galaxy. Now that he was leaving, his nights might be a little more peaceful. Maybe would he actually be able to sleep. Not that he put a lot of faith in these hopes. These were only the wishes of a broken person, a runner trying to ease his mind.   
  
Sidonis sighed and slowly shook his head, his mandibles fidgeting. His eyes rested on his little baby seating on his lap. Her face and palms were pressed against the glass, contemplating the outlines of Omega fading in the distance. He couldn’t decipher what she was thinking at this instant. After all, Lucia had been born there, had lived there until now. She shifted a little, complaining he wasn’t comfy enough.   
  
“I’m sorry I’m not as soft as a human,” he answered, rumbling with amusement.  
  
Eventually, she let herself fall on his chest, her stare still on the outside in the direction of the space station, too far to be visible now. Pity it couldn’t hide his memories away in the same time. He gently patted his daughter’s head as images from the last days flashed in his eyes. He let out a low growl.  
  
“Dad? Why are we leaving?” Lucia asked after a while, not even looking away from the outer space.  
  
How could he have told his little baby girl how despicable her father was? He was responsible for the death of eleven comrades; eleven friends; eleven family members. And he hadn’t even had the courage to witness their ends. They hadn’t even known why he had chosen to sacrifice them. They would never know. And he would live the rest of his life with his sin for himself. Sidonis wouldn’t burden his little one with it. She was far too young to understand anyway. Plus that was his own problem to deal with.  
  
“You told me you wanted to see other places.” When her azure eyes fell on him, he felt like she was reading right through him, just like her mother had done once. It didn’t helped they shared the same piercing eyes. “You told me you wanted to go to the Citadel,” he added, his voice not louder than a murmur. The tactic was disgusting. Using his beloved daughter’s treasured dream of going to the Citadel as a way to escape her present question—as well as his past actions—that was sickening. However he knew he wasn’t ready to face it. In fact, he doubted he would ever be able to cope with what he had done. In a way, it was better like that: traitors didn’t merit better.  
  
“Dad, each time I asked before, you told me you had friends you couldn’t leave behind. Will they be okay?”  
  
No they would never be okay. By now, they even weren’t anymore. His mandibles stiffened to the point of aching. He took a deep breath, uncertain of what he could say to his child.  
  
“They don’t need me anymore,” he finally muttered with difficulty, his subharmonics irregular and trembling at times.  
  
“You fought with them? Like the time I fought with Tobias because he was being stupid?” She touched the tip of her fringe, a gesture she made when thinking hard. She had unconsciously taken it from her mother and that made Sidonis flatten his mandibles then spread them with fast motions, producing a series of sharp sounds. He stopped when Lucia put her small hands on them, her own mandibles spread to the maximum in a gleeful expression.  
  
“I’m sure it’ll be alright, Dad! Remember how you stayed with me and cheered me when Tobias wouldn’t talk to me? It’s the same! I’m still here and next time you see them, you’ll be friends again!”  
  
His arms tightened the hug he was already giving her, as if it would put his heart at peace. Sidonis bent down to nuzzle his forehead to hers, rumbling at his daughter’s cuteness.   
  
“Thank you, Lucia, love you.”


	6. Brightest Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javik wouldn't stop digging until he found Shepard. Hell, the Commander couldn't possibly have died after all of that, couldn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Disclaimer:** Nobody's mine   
> **Prompt:** Rainy night, given to me by Fjeril. If you want to submit some, please do and I'll try to do them.
> 
> After ME3. I had the destroy ending in mind, but it can be applied to any ending.

When his fingers brushed the floor to grab a chunk of rock, pain rushed through his vein, making him halt an instant. Javik let out a low growl, frustrated as he rose his hands to his eyes to examine them. They were bruised from hours of digging, where dirt didn't cover it, their natural blue tone now an ugly purple. His nails were ruined, partly torn. Here and there, he could see small chunks of asphalt stinking to his scratches. There wasn't any blood though, as the rain pouring from above washed it away.

He sighed. If he wasn't able to use them, he would just do otherwise. Biotics lifted the remains of a wall to pushing them into a pile somewhere behind him. That was all he could remember doing these last couple of days. Alternating the use of his hands and biotics to clear the streets of the human ruins. So primitive in its buildings, like everything sentients of this era constructed. Still, every place he had been with the Commander was disturbingly similar to what he had been used to see.

Destruction hadn't got any limits, touching all without discriminations. Objects as well as sentients. The view was nothing more than half-crumbled buildings, and holes covering the ground, like craters in an asteroid. In the debris as well as the open, decaying corpses could be seen. And if it wasn't the dead, people were moving like haunting ghosts in the streets, as if live had already departed their body.

Truth to be told, Javik kind of envied them. They could roam without being assaulted by the horrendous memories which filled the area. They could touch the nearest person without having visions on people being torn apart by husks clawing, so realistic he could still feel their touches as if he were their victim.

He growled again when drops came into his eyes, blinked to chase them away. No need to think about primitives and their blessed ignorance. He had better things to do than lament. Anyway, since when did he —the finest warrior of his race, the last prothean, one who had finally avenged his kind— felt covetous of merely primitive beings? That was stupid, neither was it like him.

He slowly shook his head, pushing his thoughts away. Time to get back to work. His body screamed with agony and exhaustion when he resumed lifting debris. However, Javik simply ground his teeth, like it would make the torture more bearable. He refused to stop before finding Shepard. He was sure the Commander was somewhere, his lucky primitive ass waiting to be rescued. He couldn't fail him.

Another growl came out when a vertigo made the world spin around him. He staggered, taking a few steps back. Then, he tripped on a stone, falling down with a hard thump. Hot pain, like hot iron pulsed in his whole body, making his convulse. His eyes rolled back, and he couldn't help but howl, again and again, feeling like he was about to die. How pathetic.

Later, when the torment dulled to the hurt he had grown to be a companion, he opened his eyes on the still black sky. The rain was even stronger, hitting him like tiny icy needles on every inch of his skin not covered by his damaged armor. He put a hand on his face, grimacing at the coarse sensation of ruptured skin and exposed flesh. Blood mixed with water tainted him with reds, like some of the primitives' markings.

Something gently nudged him in the flank, as if trying to see if he was still alive. Icy blue eyes met his, indecipherable when watching him. The turian's face was still and inexpressive as he lowered the spades in one of his hands. At least, he didn't made the insult of extending his other hand to help him. He merely gave him one of the two tools he held, and turned on his heels to start digging not far from there.

Within moments and a lot of grunts, Javik was on his feet, ignoring the ache as he went back to work. No words came troubling the relative silence between them. Time passed with almost no changes except for their positions shifts as they cleaned out the area. As the day progressively came, familiar faces followed in same the manner, bringing with them food and drinks. When the sun was high, everyone had joined them, surprising the prothean by their quietness as they dove into labour: he knew by first-hand experience that primitives were chatty.

As for now, there was nothing except the sounds of digging, as well as the melody of the never-ending rain. Javik smirked because once again, the Commander seemed to have united them toward a common goal, reaching a silent agreement. Finding the human was the most important; everything else could wait, even the words. The prothean was glad these primitives Shepard cherished understood that.


	7. Moebius Stripe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Catalyst didn’t think the Synthesis would end up in that kind of cycle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Parental issues
> 
> By choosing the Synthesis, Shepard became a Reaper. Synthanic is a mix between synthetic and organic.

The Shepard human is the first organic in its core. The first one to meet its expectations. It rectifies itself: the Shepard isn’t just human. He’s the embodiment of this cycle sentients’ will. He’s precious. He’s worthy of choosing. As the Catalyst graces him with the honor of taking a holographic humanoid form, the one it knows the Shepard sees in his dreams. It also feels Harbinger’s wrath. The Shepard achieved to stir emotions within its first born. He will make a strong child, without doubts, the most powerful of all. 

But, as the human merges with them, giving them a little of his humanity, the Catalyst knows the future will be difficult. Although they have a path to trace to guide the new synthanic beings, his oldest and youngest children won’t cooperate, refusing to work together. The sooner hates the later with a passion. The later abhors the sooner with the legion of voices and races which served for his birth. 

And for the first time in his whole existence, the Catalyst feels annoyed as it has to separate these two before they kill each other. Again. It’s just like a never-ending cycle, the two sides of a Moebius stripe. It just hopes the others won’t be inspired by their incessant struggles. It has enough of two unwilling children, it doesn’t need more.


	8. I'd rather like them scarred, seated and mute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that peace was finally here, Hannah Shepard decided it was time to pay her son a little visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Everything has a price

When she entered, the first thought to cross her mind was it was too freaking big. What’s with large bay widows on her left? It was like begging to be pried on. She shook her head as her eyes went on the expensive furniture: she largely preferred the narrowness of her quarters back on the Orizaba, and her military furnishings. All of this was far too fancy for her. But well, she guessed it wasn’t so bad, at least her son would have a real home, in addition to his dearly beloved Normandy. Speaking of which, her grown-up baby was watching her with a sheepish smile. 

“Mom,” he greeted her, his arms limp on his sides. 

As always, he seemed reluctant to engage in any public display of affection. Bad for him. They hadn’t seen each others for _years_ ; his modesty could go fuck itself, she was going to hug him now that she could.Who knew what foolish missions he would have to accomplish after. Before he could escape, Hannah Shepard locked her arms around her son in a tight embrace.

“Hey honey.” They stayed in that position for a few moments before she liberated him, smiling at his obvious awkwardness. “It’s been a long time. I missed you.” Then, her eyes were on the turian standing next to her child. “Nice to meet you, Rear-Admiral Hannah Shepard.”

He shook her extended hand with vigor, his mandibles spread. “Officer Garrus Vakarian.”

“I know.” Only idiots and ermites weren’t aware of Vakarian being in her boy’s team since the beginning. She offered him a large smile. “You’ve been by my foolish son’s side since the beginning. Thanks for taking care of him.”

“You’re welcome Ma’am. Although it’s mostly him taking care of me. Well, except for these times where, you know I help him. Like when Spectre renegades escape, Collectors run rampant or Reapers need to be ass-kicked.”

The woman laughed. He was a cocky one, wasn’t he? At least, he had guts and for having stuck this long with her son, very loyal. She liked that. “And these scars?”

Vakarian turned his head on the side, tapping a talon on it. “An explosive gift from last year. But apparently,” he made a small wave to show her son. “Some people really _love_ it. You could say that everything has a price.” 

She grinned. Their relation had been all over the news, and surprisingly, still were by now. She shrugged, as well as her baby was fine, it was very fine by her if he favored scarred turians. At least she knew this one wouldn’t abandon him, even if the whole galaxy was against her son. Said son who was now rolling his eyes, arms crossed over his chest and a very annoyed expression on his face.   

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “Now if you two would stop speaking and seat your asses down, I would _love_ it.”


	9. For they are legion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Tali's amazement, Legion could sometimes be pretty funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Disclaimer:** Nobody's mine  
>  **Prompt:** Tropical Rain Forest
> 
> Set during ME2

The quarian let an annoyed hiss when her left foot sank into another puddle of muddy water hidden by the damn world’s lush vegetation. Here, the atmosphere was so humid that her suit couldn’t even absorb it all. It was soaked to the point she felt like swimming in it, her wet hair glued to her skin because of her abundant sweat. It was too fucking hot in there. She cursed loudly when her other foot was grasped by a vicious liana, nearly making her drop. The sound came muffled by the insects caught in her mask filters, making her swear again in annoyance to have to clean it again so soon.  

Really, this planet was nothing less than hell disguised in a form of a luxurious and watery jungle. At least, she wasn’t alone in her suffering. Ahead Shepard was progressing his back bent to avoid the vegetal strands hanging from the trees, lingering on them as if waiting to snatch them. 

Behind was the geth-pet her captain had chosen to accompany them to check this beacon signal, right in the middle of a very dreadful nowhere. Her eyes narrowed to slim slits, the corners of her mouth slightly trembling in amusement. As least, she hadn’t lianas infiltrating into each spaces and joints of her body, water oozing from a hole in her chest, and a swarm of insects coming to die on the light of her eyes. It made it seemed like it was coupled to a green hundred-tentacled hanar. 

That made her giggle. Shepard stayed silent when she shared her observation, but the human’s shuddering betrayed his amusement. When she looked back at it, as always, Legion seemed unfazed by the situation. However, its facial plates had tightened, producing a series of soft but high-pitched beeps it had never made before. So maybe Legion was as annoyed as them.

That alone was a great source of enjoyment, making this whole thing a little more bearable. Pity she knew she would have to help the geth clean this junk out of its body when returning. That would be another kind of hell. 

Keelah! She really hated that planet.


	10. No salarian like this one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mordin Solus knew someone else would have mess things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Soul  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME3  
>  **Warning:** Character death

The sky didn’t seem as high as usual from where he stood. Around, grey clouds were moving, brightened by the swarms of radiant green nodules. Not too long before they finished dispersing in the atmosphere. There they were, the result of his researches, the proof of his not-so-typical salarian intellect. Something he was the only one who could have done it. 

The smoke made him cough. The tremor made him stumble, he put a hand on the console to steady himself. He could already smell the heavy odor of the fire, sense the heat rise at an exponential intensity. Mordin smiled at this, already calculating the time it would take for him to die —not so much— and how he would: asphyxia most probably. If not burnt by the explosion’s chemical fire in an atrocious pain during the few seconds before his body being smashed to smithereens. Or, if unfortunate enough to survive the two firsts —which was very unlikely, a little more than zero-percent— crushed in the crumbling of the Shroud. 

Joyous perspectives of future indeed. 

But truth to be told, it didn’t matter. After all, by his old age he had succeeded in making the galaxy better, where many had failed before. First, his work on the Genophage, to avoid a large-scaled inevitable-in-long-terms war with the krogans. Then, his little retreat on Omega, in a clinic with an apprentice he was proud of, even if the human was as emotional as the others, which could impair his judgement sometimes: like when he ended up being a hostage and Shepard had to save him. There was also his little trip with the human Spectre to save the galaxy. And finally, the Genophage’s cure based on Maelon’s work.

That was a lot to brag about in a rather short lifespan —in aliens’ criteria— and there was nothing he would ever change if he could, which was stupid anyway: past could not changed. On the top of that, it was the ultimate evidence of his very nature, what he found the most satisfying with himself. So, when he fell on the console, he couldn’t care less for the excruciating agony in his lung, nor his disintegrating body. As he died, there was a sole thought in his mind. 

He was the very model of a scientist salarian.


	11. Shards of blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood was everywhere, turning a dark violet color as it dried, reflecting Menae’s light, almost like millions of blue-violet tiny crystal shards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Blue violet  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME3  
>  **Warning:** Character death  
>  **Note:** Augustus is an OC

Because of his job on the Citadel, her father had been taken away far too many times during her childhood. Her brother had taken the same path, applied for the same job before. It hadn’t surprised her the least, both of them being justice-obsessed freaks, with an interest in weapons far superior than any normal turian. 

Even though guns and firearms weren’t Solana’s things, which seemed ironic these days, it felt like all she did was shooting at things. Things which shouldn’t even exist anywhere than in some sick horror movies, or in Garrus’ tales. One more time, she wished the idiot had been delusional when telling their father about this human he admired to the point of following him into hell. 

She cursed when her assault riffle ejected the last thermal clip. Solana ducked to cover, her eyes scanning the ground. Any spot she laid her eyes on was covered with the fallen from both sides, too often turian. Blood was everywhere, turning a dark violet color as it dried, reflecting Menae’s light, almost like millions of blue-violet tiny crystal shards were on the floor. It gave the area an eerie glow, fascinating by its weird beauty of a horrific origin. And Solana was very tired of it. She was sick of seeing countless deaths, witnessing day after day, the end of her civilization. She had came to despise the color and its dreadful meaning.

Splashes of a vivid blue came on her. There was a loud thud. She didn’t look at his face when she crouched to take the munitions hanging at his belt. Augustus was one of his cousins, still a child not old enough to be sent to the military. Yet, like anyone, he had chosen to take up arms, willing to help defend his homeworld: that was what good turians did after all.

When she recharged and stand to shoot the bastard abomination which had killed him, she screamed her hate, her mandibles stretched afar by her burning anger. They were going to pay, she decided. Ignoring any prudence, she rolled to the side, out of cover, where she would have a better view of the battlefield.

There was a sudden sharp pain in her leg. Solana fell to the ground, unable to stop fall. She hadn’t see the crawling husk, whose inferior parts wasn’t there anymore. Bullets were soon in its head. She kicked the corpse away before returning to cover, her head cleared. That had been a very stupid move, one of those her brother was very fond of. 

“Don’t be so reckless!” her father said, his tone the same one he had when reprimanding Garrus. He crouched to examine the injury. “No Garrus, Solana’s okay. A leg’s broken but nothing life-threatening,” he added speaking to his omni-tool.

Looking at the blood coming from the wound as she listened to his brother’s voice, Solana wished he was there with them. Battles were his routine, dealing with desperate situations his specialty. But he had other more important matters waiting for him and the rest of the Normandy. Still, he had taken the time to contact them. She was missing him and couldn’t wait to see him again. She wanted to tell him; who knew when they would be able to get in touch after that. 

“Dad!” was all she could scream, when she saw the grenade making its way above their cover, right to them, blooming into fireworks of blue and violet.


	12. Sticky Grenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard drags Garrus out in the streets to let him witness firsthand a very old human tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Pumpkin  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME2

For the occasion, the city’s lights had been extinguished. Streets were lit by lanterns in suspension in the air, slowly moving and casting weird shadows around them. Garrus ducked out of the way of a small human, dressed with an old-fashioned cloak, in a black seemingly-heavy-but-soft material. He gazed at the funny markings on her face as she passed. Usually, humans didn’t wear such bold and flashy patterns: they never seemed inclined to show their clans. However, tonight, many younglings were out, noisy and agitated as ever. For a some peculiar reason the turian couldn’t fathom, they were also wearing strange costumes.

Shepard was walking next to him, grinning like the madman he was while he was carrying an ridiculously bright orange crate. He hadn’t told him what was going on there: why the hell he had insisted to drag him there in the crowd of what felt nothing else but tiny crazy humans, attacking the intercoms of the buildings in their way.  
  
“Are they playing to some sort of war game?”

Garrus asked as from the corner of his left eye, he saw a child throwing an egg at an adult. He couldn’t decide what was the weirder, the fact the grown-up apologize, like the brat’s action was justified, or said brat’s blue make-up and prothesis that made him—or her, he couldn’t really tell with small humans—look like an asari. Well, minus the breasts and butt but the idea was there. The kid wasn’t wearing much either.

Now that he payed attention, similar scenes were happening all around: the little humans would go to adults, chanting and screaming and moving their hands in the air until they were given things. When they didn’t receive anything, they would just throw food back while laughing their asses out.

“What the hell is happening there, Shepard?”

“You’re all pussies, I’m gonna ask them!” A high-pitched voice made Garrus wince—how could humans stand the shrill of the younglings was still a mystery to the turian—nearly followed by a cupped hand that stopped too close to his mandibles to his liking. “Trick or treat!” A grotesque sewn yahg was in front of him, much smaller than the real deal and its mouth full of fake teeth—not scary at all—opened on a child with brown skin splashed with a nebula of dark dots on his face. Big eyes of the color Palaven’s sand staring at him with determination. “Trick or treat!” The kid repeated, moving his hands like it should mean something obvious to Garrus.

He turned to Shepard for help. The commander’s grin was now so large it was plain goofy. In addition to the malicious glow in his eyes and the way he had rose an eyebrow at him, Garrus knew the smug bastard wouldn’t lift a finger to help him.

“Okay, then! Gimme a big bad trick for the big bad turian.” The human in yahg disguise said, before turning to the children cowering behind—probably friends—clearly afraid to approach him. They passed to the kid a round thing of the same orange of Shepard’s crate, almost as larger than a head and definitely bad smell. “TRICK FOR YA, TURIAN!” The false yahg hurled while smashing the thing on his clothes. It exploded on him, orange goo mixed with bits of hard flying everywhere. Garrus hands instantly flew to protect his mouth when he identified the sour odor of rotting food. “That’s so going on the Extranet!”

Before Garrus could grab the hood of the costume and scold the brat, Shepard nudged with his elbow. He opened the crate, revealing it contained nothing but sweets, then took a handful of it and give it to the small humans around. They squealed in delight.

“Trick or treat, Garrus. That’s Halloween for you.”

“You could have warn me.” Garrus replied, examining a long fiber of the food-thing that had now ruined his clothes. “This food-thing stinks and could easily be as sticky as your grenades, Shepard.”

“Field experience, Garrus, there’s nothing better. The food-thing is called a pumpkin by the way.”


	13. Calm tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thane and Kolyat have some bonding time over a cup of coffee, away from the Citadel and all their daily worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Coral  
>  **Timeline:** Set between ME2 and ME3

The transparent dome was an open window on the undersea wild life. A bright colorful vegetation covered the hills surrounding the city of Ithaka. Legions of fishes swan above, seemingly undisturbed by the human swarm under their tails. Thane was reminded of Kahje and the Encompassing with its coral blue waters. He caught himself searching for the hanar, moving through the ocean with a speed and grace none other species would ever be able to match.

“We shouldn’t have come, Father,” his son said when Thane coughed. “Your condition is worsening at an alarming rate and this.” Kolyat made a gesture in the air. “Doesn’t help.”

“I don’t want to spend what’s left of my time in a hospital room, not until my condition requires everyday care,” he added when Kolyat opened his mouth, ready to argue about that.

If Thane was glad his son was worried for his health, he still wished he would understand his need to see what the galaxy had to offer as much as he could while he still had the possibility. Not that he hadn’t travelled until now, but it had always been for contracts that required all his focus. Being there, free of any obligation, helped soothing his mind.

“Moreover, a little time out of C-Sec can be good to you. You’ve been overworking yourself with that last case.”

Kolyat slowly put his cup down, shaking his head. “It was necessary, and it was worth it. With their leaders out of the pictures, the gang disbanded.”

It had been all over the ANN, C-Sec dismantling the Sables, one of the most influent drug cartel in the Citadel, which they had been following for years. Thane had been more than pleased to learn that Bailey had put Kolyat in the charge of the operations, even if that meant his son had been on the edge since. Too much worries and not enough sleep. The most important was that he was making the galaxy better. On the top of that, he seemed to appreciate his job. That eased Thane’s mind. Even if Shepard and him had stopped Kolyat from becoming an assassin, Thane always had a small part of him thinking his son would try again one day.

“I’ve been following the story,” Thane replied, pushing his thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time for it.“I don’t think I’ve said it yet. Congratulation you for your hard work.”

Kolyat was aghast, body suddenly tense and blinking too many times. He opened his mouth, then shut it, fidgeting on his chair like when he was a little child, afraid to ask questions he thought embarrassing. Thane patiently let him regain his composure, conscious that any comment on his part would probably not be welcomed; they were working on their relationship and he didn’t wish to make it harder than it already was.

“Thanks, Father,” Kolyat said after a long silence with a small smile worthier than everything else in Thane’s mind.


	14. Sigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubles always follow him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Under the radar  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME3

The club isn’t really classy. The music is too loud, lights are too bright. Shepard can feel the basses make the ground tremble under his feet as he walk to the booth where the others are seating, empty bottles already piling on the table. James hit his shoulder playfully as he passes next to him on his way to the bar, providing him a brief report of what they did until now.   
  
Booze, flirting, dancing.   
  
Most of all, no fights with anyone. Yet.   
  
But he can see the three batarians coming to him, cracking their knuckles, all menacing. He sighs.

 


	15. Troubles, always troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing finer than a Shepard if you're looking for troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Blind Date  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME3

"If you're lucky," the volus merchant says as he stops in front of the warehouse's door. "There shouldn't be any problems."  
  
Garrus' mandibles twitch with amusement as he unfolds his sniper rifle, feels the familiar weigh of his beautiful settle into his hands. A glance to his left side teaches him that Liara is ready too, her left hand is already draped in a faint blue glow.  
  
"What enemies do you think it'll be this time?" Garrus asks, not without some excitement.  
  
Shepard smirks. After all, their commander is a magnet for problems of any kind, mostly the violent ones.


	16. Blindness of an airhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he asked himself if throwing a Fornax to Garrus' face would make the penny drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Romance  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME2

He could wait, Shepard told himself in a rather pathetic way to tell himself that it wasn't that important.  
  
After all, there were better things to do to try to pursue any kind of romance when he was expected to save everyone. Again. It didn't help at all that Garrus could be thick as hell sometimes and didn't even seem to have any cues of Shepard's attempts to court him. Somehow, he doubted it was because of any cultural differences: these kind of things tended to be universal.  
  
He had to admit that Fornax wasn't much of a reference though.


	17. They, who fight like a Shepard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghost, they called them, since nobody could seem to succeed in tracing the guy's id informations, even when nobody seemed to be able to shut up about their impressive battle achievements. Garrus couldn't say he wasn't excited that Shepard had sent Tali and him on a mission where they'd have to team up with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Garrus and Tali, Ghost  
>  **Timeline:** Set during ME3  
>  **Note:** the Ghost is mine.

“Keelah! He’s really not bad!” Tali let out through the comms, saying aloud what everyone else was probably thinking.  
  
“I have to admit,” Garrus admitted following the guy’s progression on the battlefield with an appreciative eye, before he shot an assault trooper out of the sentinel’s way. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he added while the other put their tactical cloak.  
  
He watched over them through his sniper lenses while they passed their omni-tool over the body lying on the ground. Then, they crouched on the ground, not that it made that much of a difference, to give them the first aid needed to get the human biotic back on his feet. Tali was a bit farther, hidden between a large chunk of fallen roof, fingers almost dancing on her omni-tool as she was working on hacking the deactivated security bots lying around.  
  
There was another quarian with her, whose name eluded Garrus. That one was part of the Ghost’s team, the later had one moved to programming three drones in what seemed like an instant, an impressive feat the turian had never seen done before, even by Tali. Of course, that part of the Ghost, he knew of: as swift and sturdy as a shatha, moving around like they owned the place and using their tactical cloak, decoys and drones as if it was as natural as breathing. Their combat abilities had made them a legend and giving them their actual surname: the Ghost, only seen when they wanted to be seen and who could take whole platoons of reapers by themselves. The last part was an exaggeration of course; the Ghost wasn’t even working alone and like any special ops team sent out to take care of delicate mission out there, they were working with three other operatives. The quarian who had taken cover with Tali. A big krogan, even by krogan standards who was making his damn best to get their enemies’ attention off the Ghost while he helped the human and fiddled with his armor.  
  
Garrus swore a couple times when his sniper overheated; he had used an older model while leaving his Mantis at trusted hands back on the Citadel to be upgraded). He switched to his assault riffle, making his way to quarians.  
  
“Finally got them!” Tali said when he joined them. As she spoke, bots were standing up, already shooting at the Cerberus men around. His friend reached for her shotgun. “Well, Garrus. Time to do some shooting.”  
  
“I’ve done plenty of shooting,” he shot back, subharmonics vibrating with amusement. “But, I feel like if we don’t do more, the Ghost’s gonna have all the glory to themselves. Wouldn’t let that happen, would we? We’d get teased to no end.”  
  
That was the bit neither of them had been expecting at all. When hearing they would collaborate with the Ghost, they had play the guess what species they were. She had bet on human and himself on turian. Both had it so wrong. But to be fair, Garrus thought, watching them leading the way further into the facility, agile and fast like they were as light as air when avoiding fire, nobody would have guessed the guy’s species or even believed it without seeing them with their own eyes. And somehow, there were not a single video of the Ghost on the extranet.  
  
“I can’t believe it!” Tali told him when the Ghost rolled on the side, while activating his cloak to come behind them and recharged their shields. She let out a satisfied grunt as she could blast away the few troopers now in front of them without fear of touching the guy.  
  
“You’re not alone…” The words came out almost as a growl. Himself had a hard time to realize what was happening, and why the hell Shepard had sent them here when the guy didn’t seem to need their help, at all. He wouldn’t say it was a bad experience though. As much as he loved Shepard and working with them, he liked to be able to work on a less political mission for once. After Rannoch and Legion’s death, he had needed that. Tali even more.  
  
It made him feel like being on Omega again, doing a work that might not seem like a big gesture, but that was important nonetheless and had an impact. His mandibles stiffened at the comparaison, even though he was dealing with that far better than when Shepard had found him, ready to die. Instead, he concentrated on shooting the phantom before it moved away from the decoy to them. The krogan and human biotic were taking care of a phantom not far while the Ghost and the other quarian had fallen on a support role, making sure their shields weren’t depleted and using drones and decoys to get their enemies off their back as much as possible.  
  
It wasn’t easy—missions never really were since the war had begun—but everything was going smoothly and nobody had died or suffered a severe injury, yet. And the Ghost was nothing but the reason. If their squad was excellent, he was just playing at another level. It was clear the guy was a genius as far as combat as concerned. Not only were they a more-than-average fighter, but they seemed to be as skilled with leading the whole team and coming up with strategies that made a full use of their individual abilities (even though it was the first time Tali and him were working with them).  
  
In fact, “They remind me of Shepard,” Garrus said aloud, earning himself a hum from Tali. “Except for the corpulence and height bit, of course,” he added with a rumble of amusement, making her chuckle.  
  
“You don’t say,” she replied. “All the more impressive. I really didn’t think Volus could fight like that.”  
  
Garrus was happy they were currently on a private chan comm because what he said wasn’t appropriate at all, maybe except in Joker’s mind: “Well, I didn’t think Volus could fight at all. Remember that Biotic God when we met Samara back on Illium?”


End file.
